


The Art of Meddling

by crookedsilence



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Humor, M/M, Meddling, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedsilence/pseuds/crookedsilence
Summary: The International School of Denver (ISD for short) is a respectable, high-quality institution of learning. There are awards, endowments, and successful alumni demonstrating as much.But you probably wouldn’t know that after spending any amount of time with the teachers when they aren’t actually teaching.----Or how a team of teachers tries to bring about true love for two of their own. Spoiler: They aren’t very good at it.
Relationships: Nathan MacKinnon/Cale Makar
Comments: 12
Kudos: 121





	The Art of Meddling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and I make no profit for it.
> 
> Also, facts about horoscopes and statistics were looked up very briefly, so apologies for any errors there.

_August_

The coffee pot is empty when Gabe gets to the break room. Despite the numerous post-it notes pasted over it and the wall behind it with emphatic demands to REFILL IF YOU FINISH and DON’T JUST LEAVE A LITTLE BIT TO SAY YOU DIDN’T FINISH IT (*cough* Rants *cough*) and DEATH TO ALL WHO FORGET TO REFILL, the coffee pot is empty.

Sighing the sigh of every overworked, underpaid teacher, Gabe opens the cupboard, pulls out the coffee grounds, and refills the pot like a decent fucking human being. As it bubbles, he pulls his phone out and crafts a strongly worded text to Mikko (because he knows it was him).

“Is that a fresh pot?” a voice asks, and Gabe glances up to see Tyson almost floating into the room, eyes closed as he sucks in deep breaths of coffee-soaked air.

“Yup, someone forgot to refill again.”

“Mikko,” Tyson chides, even though the perpetrator isn’t around to hear it. “Well, I guess that means no cinnamon rolls for him.”

Jolting, Gabe drops his phone on the counter and cranes his neck to see the bag in Tyson’s hand over the ‘breakfast bar’ that no one actually uses. “Cinnamon rolls?” he asks, eager. “Homemade?”

Tyson scoffs and sets the bag down. “Have you ever seen me make a dessert from a box or a can? I may not be rich, but I have standards.” Shaking his head, he reaches in the bag, draws out the pan, and sets it on the counter with a flourish. “And they’re high standards, too.”

He whips the lid off, and Gabe’s mouth waters at the sight of so many golden-brown, sugar-glazed rolls of cinnamon heaven.

“I made these babies from my sour dough starter. Not bad, eh?”

Eyes roving over the perfect rolls, Gabe licks his lips. “Not bad? Tys, these look amazing. I could eat ten of them.”

“Ten of what?” someone asks, coming in with a likely empty mug in hand.

Tyson spins around, beaming. “Cinnamon rolls!” he cheers. “Made fresh this morning.”

Nate goes from lumbering zombie to ninja speed demon in a heartbeat, popping up beside Tyson and peering into the pan with the light of a starved man in his eyes. “Oh my god,” he groans. “Tys, those look incredible. Why do you have to tempt me like this?”

Tyson shrugs and produces a knife and spatula from the bag, separating one of the rolls from its brethren with precision cuts. “It’s the first day back. Everyone deserves some cinnalove in their life. How else do we survive?”

Salivating, Gabe accepts the freshly-plated cinnamon roll, takes a bite, and moans. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. This is heaven in roll form. Tyson, I think I can see the light.”

Tyson huffs and shoves Gave for his dramatics, but his cheeks are flushed and there’s a pleased little grin curling his lips, so Gabe knows the shove didn’t mean anything.

“Are you going to eat one?” Tyson asks, eyeing Nate. “Or are you going to suffer while you watch us eat them because they’re ‘full of empty carbs’ and ‘sugar-coated pounds’?”

With a pout, Nate slumps on the counter until he’s eyelevel with the rolls. He stares for long enough that Gabe wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

“I can have half of one,” Nate decides. Nope, not asleep then, just dealing with an internal crisis. “I’ll run an extra mile tonight.”

Tyson gives him a flat look. “I don’t go halfsies, Nathan. You either eat a whole one or none at all.”

Nate scowls at him but concedes, wisely yielding to the whims of their master chef. “I’ll run two miles.”

Smile victorious, Tyson cuts another roll, drops it on a plate, and slides it over to Nate.

“And here we have the staff break room.” Gabe looks up from his glorious cinnamon roll to see Bednar in the doorway, waving into the room as he gives someone a tour. Nate sits up as casually as possible, straightening his button down and reaching for a fork because he can’t eat finger foods without making a complete mess of himself, as Gabe learned Nate’s first year. “This is where most of the teachers eat lunch and, as you can see, where they will come during their free periods or passing periods to grab a snack or a coffee refill.

“That’s Gabe Landeskog; he teaches European Studies and a couple World History classes.” Gabe waves as the person beside Bednar steps into the room. It’s the new business teacher. They had crossed paths last week, but Gabe had been rushing to the store because Mel had wanted pickles and he needed to get them immediately (even though she had said it could wait), so he hadn’t had the opportunity to properly introduce himself. “And Tyson Barrie, he covers Senior English and AP Literature. And that’s Nathan MacKinnon. He teaches Statistics and a couple algebra classes.”

“Kale!” Tyson shouts, loud and welcoming, and Nate makes an odd choking sound. Concerned, Gabe peers over at him, but he hasn’t even touched his food. What kind of loser chokes on their own spit? “You’re just in time,” Tyson continues, slicing another couple rolls and sticking them on plates. “Fresh cinnamon rolls to celebrate the new school year!”

He strides across the room and hands one plate to ‘Kale’ the new guy and Bednar. “I know it’s not as good as Mrs. Bednar’s cooking, but I think you’ll like it.”

Bednar takes it with a nod, and ‘Kale’ (is that really his name?) gives Tyson a crinkle-eyed smile. “Thanks, it looks really great.”

Tyson, flushed because he doesn’t know what to do when someone compliments him, grins and says, “If you finish your tour before the hour’s up, you can come back for a second.” Gabe’s mouth drops. “Newbies get two to pull them through.”

‘Kale’ laughs and thanks him again before Bednar leads him onto the next part of the tour.

Tyson returns to the counter and sets to work on the rest of the pan.

“Is his name really Kale?” Gabe asks, incredulous, still upset that Tyson would offer the new kid _two _cinnamon rolls. “His parents named him after a lettuce?”

Serenely slicing, Tyson shakes his head. “I don’t think kale counts as a lettuce. It’s just a leafy green, right Nate?” Nate grunts in response, and Tyson and Gabe eye him worriedly. He doesn’t offer anything more though, eyes distant as he chews his food. “Also, it’s Cale with a c, not a k, so not like the leafy green.”

“Cale,” Gabe repeats. “That’s still a little weird.”

Tyson shrugs. “He’s really nice though. When I was bringing in some new books on Thursday, he came over to help me and carried most of them to my classroom. He just moved from the Boston area, Amherst I think, and is teaching a lot of the business classes.”

“Why’d he move?” Nate asks, waking from whatever stupor he had been in. “Was it for family stuff? Kids or…”

Brow furrowing, Tyson frowns at Nate as he plates the cut rolls. “Kids? Dude, are you serious? Does he look like he has kids?”

Nate flushes, obvious beneath his pale skin, and Gabe wrinkles his nose, confused by whatever is going on right now.

“Nate, he’s like twenty-three,” Tyson says. “Maybe twenty-four. He graduated last spring and taught at a local school for a year before coming here. Why would you think he has kids?”

The flush deepens (those cursed Irish roots), and Gabe stares. What is happening right now? What is actually happening right now? Gabe hasn’t seen Nate this red since the Secret Santa two years ago, when someone gave him a well-intentioned if ill-executed bottle of lube as a present because he had told them all he was gay after Duchene the Departed Dick had asked him one too many times about possible girlfriends.

“Nate,” Tyson prods. “You think he has kids? You think baby-faced rookie has his own babies? You think he’s a dad?”

Nate stabs the last of his cinnamon roll and shoves it in his mouth, not meeting either of their eyes.

“Are you—” Tyson stops abruptly, and Gabe pauses in his eating, hand frozen in front of his mouth as he looks between Nate and Tyson.

Eyes alight with a secret Gabe would really like to know, Tyson sets the knife and spatula aside, leans on the counter, and smirks. “Nate,” he coos. “Nate, are you serious?”

Nate chews viciously, then tosses his empty plate in the trashcan.

“That’s him?” Tyson asks, gleeful. “That’s hot dad?”

Gabe abandons his bite. “Hot dad?” he demands, delight rolling through him. “That’s hot dad?”

Nate snatches his mug off the counter, comes around, and hip checks Gabe out of the way. Ignoring them both, he fills the mug and takes a sip, immediately spitting it back into the cup because it’s still steaming and he’s disgusting and doesn’t know how to use a sink.

Gabe claps a hand on his shoulder and holds him in place. “You thought that child had children of his own?” he asks, gleefully watching Nate turn every shade of red known to man and maybe a few that have yet to be discovered. “You looked at those baby cheeks and honestly believed he had a kid of his own? Let alone a kid over twelve?”

Nate scowls. “Fuck off,” he snaps, holding his mug up like a shield. “You didn’t see him with that kid. He totally looked like a dad.”

Tyson and Gabe look at each other, look at Nate, and burst into uproarious laughter.

\----

_September_

At the gate, JT flashes his ID, and the poor STUCO representative working the booth waves him in, already turning to the next person in line with a grimace masquerading as a smile.

Oh to be a young, impressionable high school student who lets their significantly more extroverted friends rope them into joining Student Council. JT does not miss those days.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out. “I just got in,” he says after accepting the calls. “The line was longer than I expected.”

Tyson scoffs. “It’s the rivalry game, man. All the alumni come out for it.”

“It’s a high school football game,” JT counters, ducking around a gaggle of giggling girls, “not the Super Bowl.”

“Whatever. You come every year. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

JT narrowly dodges an errant football and spots Nate near the concession stand, caught up in a conversation with Cale, the newest addition to ISD’s teaching staff. JT hasn’t gotten to know him too well yet; history and business don’t often cross paths. (Unless a deal goes wrong or very, very right.) But he and Nate seem pretty chummy, leaning close as they talk, hands waving and eyes intense.

“Give me two minutes,” JT says and promptly hangs up.

His phone buzzes with a message, probably an angry string of emojis, but JT shoves it back in his pocket and heads for the concession stand. Tyson will accept snacks as an apology. The gossip about Nate and Cale will just be icing on the cake.

Trying to look casual, JT hops in line and squints at the menu, eyes on the food but ears one hundred percent on Nate and Cale.

Look, he doesn’t want to assume anything. Lots of guys are just friends. Gay guys are friends with straight guys all the time. But Nate seems a little too into the conversation for this to be just friends.

“So yeah, Corsi is a better metric than plus/minus, but it still isn’t great,” Nate is saying. “There’s a lot it doesn’t account for, and while I’m glad that teams are starting to care more about stats when evaluating players, I wish they would rely on better analysis than that. It’s too surface level and completely ignores underlying numbers that could make a big difference if a winger had a different center or a defensemen was on the first power play instead of the second.”

“Definitely,” Cale agrees. “It’s cool to see teams hiring analysts, but they need to be aware of all the different numbers and the strengths and limitations of them. I did a Monte Carlo for a project once, looking at shooting percentage and accuracy based on rest days between games, and it was way more enlightening than a basic plus/minus or a Corsi.”

Nate makes a strange noise, disbelief and excitement and something else that JT doesn’t want to think about. “You know Bayesian?” Nate asks, and JT has to look. He has to.

Cale nods, one side of his mouth curling up. “Stats was my minor. I honestly did it half because I wanted to understand the deeper analyses better, but I ended up really liking it.”

Nate looks like he was just offered season tickets for life. “That was what got me into stats, too!”

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice calls, all longsuffering and brittle patience. “Sir, do you want something?”

JT snaps his head around and looks at the concession worker. “Uh,” he stalls, frantically looking over the selection. “Can I get popcorn? And a bag of Skittles?”

The kid nods, and his coworker opens the popcorn machine, releasing a wave of air-popped goodness. “That’ll be three dollars.”

Frowning, JT fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. He could swear it wasn’t this expensive last year. He hands over the money and takes the snacks, moving so the dad behind him can order a bag of chips and ‘A cookie, Dad, please. A cookie.’

JT stuffs the Skittles in his pocket, so he has two hands for the popcorn and heads for the stands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nate pull his phone out, probably to show Cale some super nerdy statistics test.

Nate hands Cale the phone.

With flushed cheeks and a pleased smile, Cale taps at the screen and hands it back to Nate.

“Text me, so I have yours,” he says.

Oh.

Oh my god.

Oh shit.

Tyson and Alexander are going to freak.

They’re all going to freak.

Picking up speed, JT slides between a kid in a morph suit and the mascot, barely managing to hang onto his popcorn.

\----

_October_

Tyson flings the door open and bounds inside the locker room, JT and Alexader just behind him. “Happy Fall Break, bitches!” he shouts and gets a ball of tape to the face. “Fuck you, EJ.”

“Big Tyson did it,” EJ says, automatic, and Big Tyson punches him in the shoulder.

“I would never hurt little me. He’s my favorite, but that’s a secret,” he says with an exaggerated wink.

Z snorts, tugging at his skate laces. “Is not secret if everyone know.”

“Not everyone knows,” Big Tyson protests. “Bedsy doesn’t know.”

“Bedsy know everything.”

Blocking out Big Tyson’s offended reply, Tyson scans the locker room and, miraculously, finds a stall not occupied by a person or a person’s bag or a person’s skates because they think they deserve their own seat. He practically skips across the room, drops his bag to the floor, and plops into the empty spot.

“Hey,” Cale greets with a friendly smile as he pulls his shoulder pads on.

Tyson grins at him. “Hey, you’re here. Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

Cale adjusts the straps before securing them. “Yeah, wasn’t sure I would either. It was my fault though. I should’ve made the project due after the break.”

“Happens to all of us,” Tyson shrugs, shucking his jeans and grabbing his shin pads. “You got it all done though?”

“Yeah,” Cale nods. “Nate offered to help, so we could get them done before warmups.”

Tyson freezes, then immediately moves to tighten his pads because he doesn’t want to seem conspicuous. “Nate offered to help?” he asks, hoping he sounds smooth. “Our Nate?”

There’s no way. There is _no way_. Last year, Big Tyson made the mistake of assigning a writing imitation project in the middle of playoffs, and Nate had told him to ‘lie in the bed you made, dude’ before turning back to the TV.

“Is there another Nate?” Cale asks, bemused.

Tyson shakes his head, still not quite believing what he’s hearing. “He helped you grade?”

“Yeah,” Cale says and pulls on his jersey with the ridiculous logo Big Tyson and EJ had made a few years back, supposedly under the influence of a few margaritas. “He said he needed someone faster than other Tyson to run breakouts with.”

Bullshit.

What a load of utter bullshit.

“Right,” Tyson says, grabbing his own shoulder pads and pulling them on. “He mentioned you were fast.”

And he did, about a million times during lunch the other day. Tyson could go the rest of his life never hearing another thing about Cale’s stride, which is ‘amazing’ and ‘deceptive’ and ‘seriously, so smooth’. He’ll probably hear about it next Monday though, when Nate regales the table with a play-by-play of tonight’s game.

Cale flushes and ducks his head. “I’m not that fast. He’s definitely faster.”

Oh lord.

Dear lord.

This is not actually happening.

“I don’t know,” Tyson says, faux casual. “He seemed pretty convinced, said you could beat him in a foot race.”

Lips twisting, Cale shakes his head. “That’s not true. He beat me four to three.”

They actually raced? Tyson tries to imagine Nate and Cale whizzing around the rink together, dodging the stray wannabe figure skater and poor, helpless wallclinger. It’s both easier and cuter than he expects.

“It was close though, wasn’t it?” he asks, shaking his head when he pictures the post-race lap, all breathless grins and soft handholding. He probably shouldn’t imagine two of his single friends dating; that’s got to be a violation of the bro code or something. Like Alexander said at the game last month, two dudes (one gay and one undefined because no one has had the courage to ask Cale what his preferences are) can just be friends.

“Not that close,” Cale replies, but Tyson knows it’s a lie.

“I bet Nate would say different.”

Cale’s flush deepens. “Doesn’t mean you should believe him.”

Tyson only hums in reply.

\----

_November_

Looking over the assembled group, EJ frowns. “Have you heard from Nate?” he asks, turning to watch Gabe slice up the turkey, hand steady after years of being the designated cutter.

Gabe smoothly removes one of the drumsticks and sets it on a plate. “No, I think Tyson said he texted him about a sweet potato emergency. I’m not really sure though. I didn’t understand since he had me on speaker, but I also don’t think he understood Nate’s text, so that didn’t help anything. Oh, and I’m a little bit offended that he sent Tyson a text but didn’t reply to me. Who does that?”

EJ’s frown deepens, and he pulls his phone out, using his other hand to sneak a stray scrap of turkey. Gabe slaps him, once and really hard, and EJ recoils, losing the bite to the ground and a hungry Zoey when she comes sniffing around. “Rude.”

“You’re rude,” Gabe counters. “Wait like everyone else.”

EJ makes a face at him, and Gabe makes a face right back.

“Well aren’t you two cute,” Tyson says, sliding into the kitchen with a basket of golden rolls, some still steaming.

EJ’s mouth waters.

“I don’t think so,” Tyson warns, turning away from him when he sees EJ’s hand twitch. “We’re eating in fifteen minutes. You can wait.”

“But I don’t want to,” EJ whines. “Just one, Tys. No one will notice.”

Tyson glares at him. “I will. I stacked these rolls with precision and care. This masterpiece will not be ruined by you acting like a five year-old.”

EJ wants to protest (he’s acting like a four year-old, thank you very much), but Gabe cuts in before he can speak. “So where’s Nate? What’s this sweet potato emergency?”

“Sweet potato emergency?” Ryan asks, coming in with a couple of stunning pies. “That’s the problem he was having?”

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, EJ abandons his quest to get a roll and turns to Ryan, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, Gravy? What do you know about it?”

Ryan shrugs and sets the pies on the counter, a buttery apple with a lattice crust and a chocolate chip that he promises is the best thing after sex (maybe even before sex). “Cale was supposed to carpool with me and Clare, but he texted like a half hour ago and said he was going to Nate’s to help him with something.”

EJ leans in, gaze intent. “What?” he asks, low and anticipatory. “Cale’s at Nate’s right now?”

Ryan fusses with the chocolate chip pie, turning it this way and that like he wants to find its best angle, and EJ flaps a hand at him.

“Gravy.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says when he’s satisfied with the pie. “He’s at Nate’s, apparently helping with a sweet potato emergency, whatever that means.”

EJ turns and gives Gabe a very significant look. “He’s at Nate’s,” he says and lifts his hands, “‘helping with a sweet potato emergency’,” air quotes added for emphasis.

Gabe slices off the other drumstick. “He probably is helping him. Nate told me the other day that his oven’s been acting a little weird.”

“Oh come on,” EJ groans. “You actually believe that? Gabe, don’t be naïve.”

Great big forehead furrowed, Gabe starts in on the breast of the turkey. “Yes, I do believe that,” he says, hacking off a large slice. “And you should, too, instead of coming up with ridiculous theories about it.”

“Theories?” Ryan asks, intrigued. “What kind of theories?”

Mistrustful (as is his nature), EJ looks Ryan up and down, trying to decide whether or not to reveal the admittedly-impressive Nate and Cale Are Boning But They’re Keeping It on the Down Low For Some (Probably Stupid) Reason Theory™. Ryan’s the art teacher after all, the photography savant of ISD. The closest he gets to EJ and the sciences is astrology. EJ shudders at the very thought.

However, Ryan and Cale are friends. They’re d-partners, and they do dinners together every other Sunday if EJ has heard correctly. He might have some insights into the Cale-half of EJ’s brilliant theory. He might have heard or seen some things that would give credence to EJ’s ‘hair-brained’ idea.

“Do you know if Cale’s straight?” he asks because that doesn’t reveal too much. He needs to feel things out before letting Gravy into the circle of secrets.

Ryan blinks at him. “Are you…interested? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

EJ’s nose scrunches. “No, gross, and yes, I do. Now, answer the question.”

Ryan frowns at him. “Hey, Cale’s a good-looking guy,” he defends. “You could do a lot worse than him, and you probably couldn’t do much better. He’s right up there with the best of them. He’s a good cook, and his apartment’s always clean. He calls his mom like every other day, which is just _precious_, and the students all love him.”

What is going on? Why does EJ feel like a contestant on a dating show? “What? Gravy, no. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. Cale is a very handsome child, but he’s also a child, and a dude, which isn’t my thing but is definitely Nate’s thing, so answer the question, is he straight?”

Ryan squints at him like he doesn’t quite believe EJ and is about to start spouting more reasons why Cale is good boyfriend material, but EJ doesn’t let him.

“Come on, man. Just answer the question.”

Ryan sniffs and brushes his perfect hair back. “I don’t know. It hasn’t really come up. Though he did say that it’s been hard to find time to go on dates right now because he’s still figuring out a good work load for his students and a grading load for himself. But he didn’t say anything about whether those dates would be with guys or girls or any other group.”

“But he didn’t say they wouldn’t be with guys,” EJ says, and Ryan gives him an odd look.

“No, he didn’t say they wouldn’t be with guys.”

Tyson lets out an offended sound. “Stop butchering our language, guys. That’s three negatives in a single sentence. You sound ridiculous.”

EJ pokes his tongue out from the gap in his teeth, and Tyson wrinkles his nose.

“So, Cale may or may not be straight,” EJ surmises. Well, that puts a bit of a kink in his theory. Shit.

Ryan gives him an assessing onceover before leaning against the counter, managing to make the move an elegant slump rather than the awkward flop it would be for EJ. “I can’t say for certain,” he says, slow and careful, “but if I had to put money on it, I wouldn’t bet on Cale being straight. He’s at least bi. At least.”

Ha! EJ fist pumps. “I told you!” he says, pointing at Gabe. “I told you. I told you. I told you.”

Gabe glances between him and the finger he has aimed at him. Then he holds up the knife and raises a blond brow. EJ drops his hand like it’s been burned.

“Just because Cale may—or may not—be into guys, doesn’t mean he and Nate are getting down behind our backs.”

“You think they’re sleeping together?” Ryan asks, his too-perfect eyebrows drawing together.

EJ gives Gabe a quick glare for violating the circle of secrets without his permission, but Gabe just waves the knife menacingly, and EJ focuses back on Ryan. “I think there’s a possibility. Nate had a thing for him at the beginning of the semester, and it’s only gotten worse the more he’s learned about Cale. I mean, there’s only so many times I can hear the words ‘soft hands on and off the ice’ before I start to think that Nate is a little too familiar with those hands.”

“He just means Cale’s a soft touch,” Gabe argues, like he has every time EJ presents his theory. “Everyone knows Cale is a sweetheart. He loves all of his students, even the ones that cut class to smoke weed behind the baseball field. Nate isn’t making some veiled innuendo when he says that.”

EJ doesn’t believe that for a second. “Whatever,” he scoffs. “You’ve seen the way he looks at him. It’s the same way Tyson looks at any dessert with chocolate. It’s the same way you look at Mel.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Because he’s pining, Erik. He has a crush on Cale the size of Longs Peak and has since the semester started. We all know it.”

“But what if he’s not pining?” EJ counters. “What if he’s just looking at his boyfriend, thinking nasty thoughts about Cale’s hands?”

“That isn’t a terrible theory,” Ryan interrupts, and when EJ looks over at him, his features are thoughtful, considering.

Triumph washes through him. “Ha!” he shouts, giving Gabe a shit-eating grin. “I told you! I was right. They’re totally banging.”

“What? No,” Ryan says, nose scrunching in distaste. “You’re definitely wrong about them already sleeping together. Cale would have told me if they were. He can’t keep a secret to save his life.” He straightens up. “But I think there might be something there. It would need some attention and encouragement, but I think there’s potential. Cale definitely talks about how great Nate is enough for me to think Nate’s crush isn’t one-sided.”

“Can you be sure they aren’t sleeping together?”

Ryan frowns at him, upset that EJ would question his friendship with Cale. “Yes. They aren’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that EJ deflates. “Lame,” he whines, and Tyson gives him a gentle pat on the back.

“But they could be?” Gabe asks. “If given the right help?”

Ryan’s eyes narrow in thought for a moment. Then he nods. “Yeah, they definitely could be.”

\----

_December_

When the last of his students has packed up and left, Ryan grabs his bag and the little slip of paper and heads out the door. He waves to Mikko shutting down the gym and Charlotte when he passes by the front office.

This end of the school isn’t as familiar to him, but he manages to find Room 29 without much trouble. Smoothing his hair back, he lifts a hand and knocks on the door.

“It’s open,” a voice calls, sounding a little haggard but welcoming.

Ryan eases the door open and steps inside. Looking around the classroom, he quickly finds at least two posters he would replace and a more natural organization for the chairs that would provide max energy flow to the students. He won’t say anything though; he learned his lesson after Tyson had a small panic attack last year because he was convinced his desk arrangement had been limiting his students’ potential.

“Are you done already?” Nate asks. “I thought I was going to beat you.” He looks up with a bright smile on his face, but it falters when he catches sight of Ryan. It’s not a bad falter, more like a Ryan wasn’t the person he was expecting to find falter.

“Gravy,” he says, dropping his pen in surprise. “Uh, I wasn’t—” He stops, then regroups. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

He was definitely expecting someone else.

“Not much,” Ryan says, “just trying to help the kids finish the edits for this month’s newsletter. What about you? Grading going okay?”

Nate shrugs. “It’s grading, so not the funnest, but whatever. Did you need something?”

It’s not rude or impolite, just forward. Practical and efficient. What a Virgo.

Nodding, Ryan crosses the room and sits in one of the chairs closest to Nate’s desk. “Yeah, nothing big.” He crosses his legs, folds his hands over his knees, and looks at Nate. “I wanted to switch names with you for the Secret Santa exchange.”

Nate’s brow furrows. “Switch names? No way, man. That’s against the SS rules. We can’t do that.”

“I know. I know,” Ryan says with a solemn nod. “However, I have the blessing of the rulebook maker himself, and when I checked the star alignment this morning, everything showed a favorable outcome, so the rules can be bent just this once.”

“EJ gave you permission?” Nate asks, bewildered. “What the hell? Why?”

“Because this is an important switch,” Ryan explains. “Where’s your name?”

Shaking his head, Nate reaches into a drawer and pulls out a slip of paper. “Here, but—”

Ryan snatches it out of his hand before he can say anything else and offers his own in return. “Take the paper, Nate. These kinds of chances don’t happen every day.”

With no small amount of trepidation, Nate takes the paper, reads the name, and turns a soft red. “Uh, why…why did you want to switch? Grubi’s kind of hard to buy presents for, since his taste is better than all of ours.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ryan slips the paper into his satchel and gives Nate a look. “First of all, I have great taste and can easily find something Philipp will love. Second, we didn’t switch for me; we switched for you.”

Nate’s flush darkens, and he shoves the paper into his desk drawer and slams it shut, avoiding Ryan’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he grumbles. “I could’ve found something Grubi would like.”

This time Ryan does roll his eyes because Nate is ridiculous. “Nate,” he says, giving him the stare that JT says makes him look like a centuries-old vampire. “Grubi has nothing to do with the switch. I don’t doubt your gift-buying abilities. In fact, switching with you is a show of how much confidence I have in you. I know you’ll find something Cale will love, and I think this is a good opportunity to…make some headway there.”

Nate looks like he just swallowed a hive of bees and now they’re buzzing around inside him. “Headway?” he parrots, voice cracking.

Ryan nods. “Yes. As a Virgo, I know you can be a bit of a perfectionist and are probably waiting for the right moment, but that’s not going to come to you. You need to create it yourself, and this is the perfect opportunity.”

Features pained, Nate stares at him, mouth moving but no sound emerging.

“You can do this, Nate,” Ryan assures him, reaching a long arm out to pat his knee. “Water and Earth signs complement each other really well, so you don’t need to worry about that.” He pauses, hesitating before offering some advice. “And don’t forget that Cale’s a Scorpio. I know he comes off really chill and relaxed and unruffled, but he feels things very deeply and can be quite passionate about the things he cares about, so please be serious about this.”

Nate sputters.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ryan promises, giving him a final pat on the leg. “Text me if you need help choosing a gift.”

“I don’t—Gravy, what the—this isn’t—”

Grinning, Ryan stands, satchel in hand, and heads for the door. “Bye Nate!”

He slips into the hallway before Nate can do more than wave and is heading towards the parking lot when he runs into Cale.

“Oh hey,” he beams, coming in for a brohug. “How were classes today?”

Cale nods. “Good, really good. Though I can tell everyone is getting restless for another break.”

“I know,” Ryan groans. “I feel like I’m pulling teeth trying to get projects wrapped up and edits submitted. But just a week and a half left! Are you ready for the Christmas party?”

“Almost, still need to find a gift.”

Ryan nods, sympathetic. “That can be tough. Who do you have?”

“Isn’t it called Secret Santa?” Cale asks. “Telling you would kind of ruin that.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Ryan lets it go. (Not that he needs Cale to tell him who he has. EJ made sure to organize things on both sides.) “I guess. Where are you headed? Home?”

Cale shakes his head. “No, not yet. I’ve got to drop some stuff off though, so I’ll see you later.”

Ryan nods. “Game tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

They say their goodbyes and separate, Ryan for the parking lot and Cale for…somewhere.

It’s only when he’s in his car, well on his way home, that Ryan realizes Cale was empty-handed, and he frowns, wondering why his d-partner would feel the need to fib about his destination.

\----

_January_

When they get to their seats, Niki settles in and tosses an around Sasha’s shoulders, watching as the players circle the ice, warming up.

“Smile,” Sasha says, holding her phone up to snap a couple pictures.

Niki looks over her shoulder as she swipes through them, muttering about angles and poor rink lighting. He doesn’t think they light the rink with Insta photos in mind, but he keeps that to himself, presses a kiss to her shoulder, and says she looks beautiful in all of them.

She scoffs and shrugs him off, but he can see the smile curling her lips.

Satisfied, he leans back and fixes his eyes on the ice. The players are heading to the benches, getting ready for introductions and the anthems.

When Sasha asks him about brightness and filters, he squints at the screen, trying to figure out how this picture is different from the original. After a moment, he tells her its perfect, and her bright grin lets him know he got it right.

The announcer booms over the loudspeakers then, drawing their attention back to the players, and Niki frowns when he catches sight of a familiar head a couple rows up. He’d recognize that head anywhere; he’s seen it enough times during staff meetings and continuing education courses to have the exact shade and texture memorized.

Nate didn’t say anything about coming to the game tonight.

Niki frowns and cranes his neck. He doesn’t see Tyson or Gabe or any of Nate’s typical game-watching buddies. Maybe he came alone. A little odd, but Nate’s a hockey nerd. He’d probably go to a game alone.

The group to Nate’s right rises, and Niki briefly tunes back in to the announcer to make sure it’s not already time for the anthems. It isn’t. Nate stands, too, and someone shuffles past him, a couple beers in hand. The newcomer sits down and offers Nate one of the beers.

That’s the new kid. The business teacher. Makar.

Niki didn’t know they were friends. Well, all the teachers are friends, but they’re not all hang out outside of work and watch hockey games while drinking beer friends.

Nate takes the beer and trades it to his right hand before resting his left on Cale’s leg. He leans in and says something to him, mouth so close his lips brush Cale’s ear, and Cale laughs. He says something back that makes Nate grin, and Niki can see Nate’s hand squeeze Cale’s thigh.

Ah.

Maybe they’re not friends.

Huh.

Nate doesn’t take his hand off Cale’s leg until they have to stand for the anthems, and as soon as they’re seated once more, it drifts back into place, maybe even a little higher.

Definitely not friends then.

Frowning, Niki wonders if the boys know.

No, there’s no way they know. They’d be teasing Nate about it all the time. He’d be getting chirped in the break room and at the rink and between class periods, out of earshot of students of course. No, they can’t possibly know.

Huh.

Interesting.

\----

_February_

When the boys first came to Sammy with the idea, he had been hesitant. Cale is his friend. They’re chums. He doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed just because Nate is dumb and doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings.

Eventually, though, they had convinced him. Through much persuasion and numerous promises to attend the spring concert. Which is how he finds himself at the door to Cale’s classroom, his best singers assembled behind him.

Straightening to his full height, he lifts a hand and knocks. He can hear the hush that falls over the classroom and the excited whispers that follow. The students’ reactions have always been one of the best parts of this.

The door swings open, and Cale peers out at them.

“Sam,” he says. “Uh, Mr. Girard.” The students all giggle. “Can I help you?”

Sammy nods once, sharp and snappy, and moves forward. Cale, polite human that he is, steps back and lets them enter his classroom, completely unaware of the absolute chaos Sammy and his singers are about to create.

“Hello,” Sammy calls to the students. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” they shout, clearly eager to see who they’ve come for. Everyone knows it’s either going to be a disgustingly mushy serenade from one half of a couple to the other or a joke from a friend who wanted a good laugh.

“Mr. Makar,” he says, turning to Cale, who looks completely lost but not yet ready to protest Sammy’s invasion of his classroom, “this is a big tradition at ISD. Every Valentine’s Day, the choir does singing telegrams to raise money for our annual trip to DC, and today is your lucky day because we have one for you.”

Cale’s face goes carefully blank, and the students whoop and holler. They can’t send telegrams to teachers, but teachers can send telegrams to other teachers, and it happens at least once or twice every year because the students like it so much.

Grinning, Sammy holds out the card EJ had made that morning. It’s pretty simple, just a preprinted, kitschy line and a giant cartoon heart. The only addition they had made was a scribbled ‘To: Cale, From: Nate X’ in the corner. Tyson had protested the x, but EJ had said it was too late to print another and had shoved it into Sammy’s hands before shooing them out of his room for first period.

With obvious trepidation, Cale takes the card and reads it. After a moment, a blush blooms on his cheeks, as dark as his red Valentine’s Day sweater.

“Who’s it from?” a kid in the front row shouts, and a few others pipe up, all eyes fixed on Cale and the paper in his hand.

Clearing his throat, Cale stuffs the card in his pocket and offers a smile to his awaiting students. “Landy Dear and Snuggle Bear apparently,” he lies, voice impressively even. “Can’t imagine who they are.”

The students laugh, delighted, and Sammy narrows his eyes at Cale. He had hoped for a better reaction than that, something he could really play up when the boys ask for a recap later.

Cale looks back at him, and his lips quirk in an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “So do I tell you when to start? Or do you just…go for it?”

Sammy frowns at him. This is a quality operation he’s running here. His singers would never ‘just go for it’.

“Michael,” he says, not turning away from Cale, “if you would.”

Michael gives the starting note, pitch perfect and beautiful because Sammy has trained them well. Then he counts off the beats, and the song begins.

Only one line in, Cale is beet red and fussing with the sleeves of his sweater.

That’s more like it, Sammy thinks.

\----

_March_

“Hi Mr. Wilson!” Grace shouts from inside the petting zoo.

Colin stops at the fence and waves at her. “Hi Grace, how’re the sheep?”

She shrugs. “Not as soft as I expected but still cute. One tried to eat my brother’s hand.”

Colin makes the appropriate noises for an almost-unhanding, and Grace beams at him. “Well, you be careful then,” he tells her, “and bring your brother by the bake shop for a cookie later. I think he earned a free one for what he went through.”

She rolls her eyes (“Little brothers are the worst, Mr. Wilson,” or so she told him a few weeks ago with all the drama and longsuffering of a thirteen year-old girl), and he gives another wave before leaving.

He wanders through the fair in the general direction of the bake shop—his shift doesn’t start for another twenty minutes after all—and waves to Mikko at the shot challenge and Grubi at the ring toss. When he sees Gabe, EJ, and Sammy hovering near the photo booth, he decides he has time for a longer stop and heads their way.

“Good morning!” he greets, grinning. “Isn’t this weather incredible?”

They all nod. For Denver in late March, this is incredible. Sunny, temperatures above sixty, and not a fleck of snow in sight.

“What have they got you running today? You’re not all on photo booth duty, are you?”

EJ shakes his head. “I’ve got the fishing pond, but I’m on break for an hour.”

“Karaoke booth. I start in fifteen minutes,” Sammy says.

“And I’m running the three-legged race and the sack race,” Gabe finishes. “But those don’t start for a half hour. You?”

Colin grins. “Bake shop with Tyson.”

“Lucky bastards,” EJ mutters. Everyone wants to run the bake shop. You get to take home whatever’s left over, and there’s always good stuff. The parents of ISD either know how to cook really well or have the money to buy food from people who know how to cook really well.

Colin winks at him. “I’ll make sure to set aside a couple of the Bennett’s blueberry muffins for you. I know how much you like them.”

EJ smiles, wide and toothless, and slaps his shoulder. “This is why you’re my favorite, Willy.”

Sammy squawks in outrage. Lips turning down in a truly pitiful pout, he looks up at EJ. “Willy’s your favorite?”

EJ rolls his eyes. “After you obviously,” he says, grabbing Sammy in a headlock. “You’re my favorite favorite. Everyone else is just playing for second.”

Colin nods, not even mad. Everyone knows EJ likes Sammy best. “So what are you all doing here?”

EJ lets Sammy go and stands straight, grin mischievous. “Helping a couple idiots figure their lives out.” He looks past Colin, and his eyes light up. “Stick around, and you can see.”

Glancing behind himself, Colin catches sight of Cale and Ryan making their way through the crowd. “They aren’t idiots,” Colin says, softly chiding, and EJ shushes him.

“You made it!” he says, clapping them both on the shoulder. “Thank god. I had to send people away because they kept trying to get in here.” He hooks a thumb at the photo booth over his shoulder, and Ryan nods gravely.

Cale shifts from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I’m kind of confused about that,” he says. “What do you need me for? Ryan definitely knows more about photography and photo booths than me, but he kept insisting you guys needed my help.”

Colin looks between him and the boys, curious to hear the answer.

“We need a model,” Sammy says. “I am ‘too small’ according to Erik, and he is too tall. Ryan would not show up in the pictures because he is a vampire.”

“And Gabe?” Cale asks, brow furrowed. “He’d probably be the best model.”

Colin has to agree. Gabe has very nice hair and a good beard and dimples. He also has a very nice body, but Colin doesn’t want to objectify him.

“Sadly Gabe is so beautiful he would break the camera,” Sammy replies, and they all sigh mournfully.

Cale’s brows pinch together, but he doesn’t object. “And Colin?”

“He just showed up,” EJ explains. “We weren’t expecting him, and since you’ve already come all this way, we wouldn’t want to deprive you of the opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t mind being deprived,” Cale assures him, but EJ waves it away.

“Ah, I think it’s time,” he says, looking at something by the dunk tank. “Cale, if you would.” He pulls back the curtain and extends the other hand like he’s Vanna White revealing a letter.

Cale looks at the booth, then at EJ, then at the boys. He clearly knows they’re bullshitting him, but Colin knows he’s too nice to call them out without good reason. “You guys do know Ryan isn’t a vampire, right?” That maybe isn’t the first thing Colin would bring up in protest, but it’s probably the least controversial. Height and looks can be touchy subjects. “I’ve seen him eat garlic.”

“He’s a Twilight vampire,” EJ deadpans. “Now, get in.”

Shaking his head, Cale walks forward and slides into the booth, muttering something about possibly crazy coworkers who probably shouldn’t be entrusted with the fragile minds of today’s youth. EJ ignores him and lets the curtain fall shut.

“Incoming,” he says, jerking his chin to Colin’s left.

He turns, and this time it’s Tyson and Nate approaching.

“Look, Tys,” Nate is saying. “What are we doing? Why do you need me? I kind of have other places I need to be right now.”

“It’ll just take a second,” Tyson says. “Thirty seconds tops.”

Nate frowns at him and, when he notices the assembled group, frowns harder. “What is this? Why are you all here?”

“Thirty seconds,” Tyson repeats and shoves Nate forward.

He stumbles and barely rights himself before EJ pulls the curtain open.

“Cale? Where have you—”

Tyson gives him another shove, and Nate tumbles through the opening, bracing a hand on Cale’s shoulder and knee to keep himself somewhat upright. EJ snaps the curtain shut and stations himself in front of it.

Beside him, Gabe shoves a dollar into the machine and frantically slams a button.

“Guys, what the hell?” Nate demands. When he tries to open the curtain, EJ smacks his hand away and tugs it shut once more.

“There are children,” he says. “Don’t swear.”

“You have four tries to take a not totally crappy photo,” Gabe tells them.

“For what?” Nate shouts.

The camera clicks, and Nate bites off a swear.

“Just sit down,” Cale says gently. “They’re not going to let us out until we do.”

“Yeah, but we could always—”

The camera clicks again.

“Nate,” Cale says, and he sounds far too kind and patient for someone who’s been forced into a photo booth with the guy his coworkers all want him to date. Colin hasn’t understood the boys’ rationale for trying to set them up. (Not that they wouldn’t be cute together. They definitely would.) But Colin thinks it’ll work out on its own. They don’t need anyone to meddle in their lives.

The camera clicks again.

Someone laughs inside the booth. “Try to not look like you’re in extreme pain stuck next to me,” Cale says, and Nate grumbles something lowly. Cale laughs again, and the camera clicks a final time.

“Are we done?” Nate snaps.

“One second,” Gabe says, reaching down as the photos begin to print. “If these all suck, you have to do it again.”

“We do not! You can’t keep us here.”

The booth spits out the photos, and Gabe snatches them up. Everyone crowds around him to see.

In the first photo, Nate is just a side profile, head and legs out of frame as he yells at the curtain. Cale looks up at him, a tired, resigned smile on his face.

In the second, Nate is still a side profile, but he has turned the other way. Cale still looks up at him but with an imploring look this time like he needs Nate to sit down so they can take the pictures and get out. What surprises Colin though is the hand Cale has wrapped around Nate’s. They’re not holding hands, not really, but Cale has gripped the outside edge of Nate’s palm to get his attention, and Nate doesn’t look like he wants to pull away.

Huh, maybe there’s some merit to the boys’ plan after all.

In the third, Nate has sat down, face finally visible and turned toward the camera. Cale smiles, the folds around his mouth wrinkling as he looks at the camera with a bright grin, but Nate, well, Cale had said he needed to not look pained, and Colin gets why. Nate’s smile is more of a grimace, lips curling up in an approximation of happiness but eyes dead.

In the fourth, neither looks at the camera. They’re turned towards each other, and it’s like something Colin would see on Instagram. The photo is a little grainy, but that’s an aesthetic, and it’s a candid, so good Colin would wonder if it was staged had he not been here. Nate looks like he’s trying to be grumpy, lips turned down, but Colin can tell he’s fighting a smile. Cale, on the other hand, just looks genuinely happy, his nose scrunched and his eyes crinkled as he laughs at Nate.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Gabe murmurs, tapping at the fourth picture. “That’s really cute.”

“I hate you all,” Nate announces behind them, and they jump, spinning to see him and Cale in the photo booth’s entrance. Nate looks furious, Cale politely frustrated. “We’re not friends anymore.”

Then he pushes through the group and strides away, cheeks red and jaw set.

“Can I have those?” Cale asks, and he darts forward to pluck the photos from Gabe’s hand before he can reply, turning to jog after Nate.

Curious, Colin watches them disappear into the crowd and makes a thoughtful noise when he sees Nate’s shoulders slowly lose their tension as Cale talks to him.

“Was that a success?” he asks. That final picture and their shared departure give him some hope, but Gabe frowns at their retreating backs and crosses his arms.

“No. No, I don’t think it was.”

\----

_April_

“Mr. Kerfoot,” Jenna says, and the waver in her voice has Alexander’s hackles rising.

Abandoning the damn trophies that won’t all fit on the table, he turns around and tries to give her a look that is both unfrustrated and capable of addressing whatever problem she is about to inform him of.

She looks at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he hopes his face doesn’t do something terrible. “Hey Jenna,” he greets, “how’s it going?”

Her eyes are a little too glassy as she looks back at him, wet and heartbreaking. “There was a problem or something with the payment to the bakery,” she says, voice tight. “The guy brought the cakes in, but he said we need to write another check for the second payment.”

Alexander frowns. They sent the second payment yesterday, just like old Mr. Roy instructed him in the very thorough ‘How to Not Fuck Up as STUCO Sponsor: Ten Years of Wisdom from Me to the Next Sucker’. A gift he had given Alexander at the end of last year, following his retirement and abdication of the sponsor position.

“That’s odd. I took the check in myself. When I checked our accounts this morning, there was already a hold for the money, so they cashed it today.”

A single tear wells up in Jenna’s eye, and she sniffles.

“How about I go talk to him?” he offers. “You can stay here and take care of these trophies. I don’t know if I’m not smart enough for this or if it’s just not possible to fit them all on the table, but either way, I can’t seem to make it work.”

She giggles wetly, and the tear falls, but no more follow. “You went to Harvard, Mr. Kerfoot. If you’re not smart enough for it, no one is.”

Alexander gives her a conspiratory look. “I went to Harvard because I was okay at hockey,” he says, hushed like it’s a secret and not something his coworkers chirp him for all the time. “They weren’t looking at me for my grades.”

A bright smile splits her face, and she shakes her head. “Whatever. You still went, and you graduated.”

“And I had many a TA to help me,” he tells her before hopping off the stage and heading for the auditorium doors.

Luckily, the problem turns out to be much simpler than initially assumed, a mix-up of receipts that the worker apologizes for profusely and that Alexander assures isn’t a big deal. They’ve been working with Avalanche Bakery for probably longer than he’s been alive. One small mix-up isn’t going to end that relationship.

On his way out, the bakery worker presses a cupcake into his hand, red velvet with a blue and white cream cheese frosting swirled on top. Alexander decides to save it for Jenna; that poor girl deserves a cupcake.

After assuring that Anika and Emilio have the cakes under control, he heads for the auditorium again, cupcake cradled between his hands so he can present it in all its frosted glory.

“We can grade during intermission,” someone says, and Alexander looks around for the speaker, wondering who is still around at this hour.

Nate and Cale stand near the doors, leaning into each other’s space as they talk. Alexander slows down, but definitely not in an obvious way. He’s not Tyson or anything.

“You shouldn’t have to help me grade again,” Cale says, shaking his head fondly. “It’s my class and homework I assigned. I can take care of it.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Nate says, dismissive. “Anyways, you help me with stuff all the time. Like last week. I wouldn’t have finished that lesson plan without you. Or before spring break when I thought it was a good time to get into binomials and you talked me down from it.”

Cale looks at him, a soft smile curling his lips, and he sighs. “Fine, I’ll come over as soon as the ceremony’s ended.”

Nate clenches a fist in victory.

“But I’m going to do most of the grading. You can only do a couple.”

Nate makes a face. “What, no. We’ll split it. It’s not like I’ll have anything to do while you’re grading.”

“You could watch the intermission show or highlights from other games or do a million different things on your phone.”

Nate arches a disbelieving brow. “You really think that’ll work? I’ll just get bored and end up distracting you, which will either result in me grading more anyways or neither of us grading, so it’s best to just split it evenly from the beginning.”

Even though eavesdropping is terrible, Alexander halts after the turn toward the auditorium and strains his ears to listen. He doesn’t want to miss the rest of their conversation. This is good stuff he’s hearing, promising stuff. The boys are going to lose their minds when he tells them.

“Okay,” Cale agrees. “We’ll split it evenly.”

“Sweet.”

“I should warn you though, if we manage to get it done, I’ll probably crash before the game’s even over.”

Nate scoffs. “Like that’ll bother me.”

“Just thought I should let you know.”

“Alright, I’ve been warned. So do you want Thai or Mexican?”

Cale hums. “What about that new Indian place near the elementary?”

“Saffron Grill?”

“Yeah, doesn’t naan sound good? Naan always sounds good.”

There’s a long pause, and Alexander wonders if they’ve left, heading back to their classrooms since he hadn’t heard the door open or shut.

“Oh my god, Nate,” Cale groans, “don’t make that face. It’s just bread, delicious bread.”

“Buttery fried bread,” Nate corrects.

Cale tuts. “It’s not a big deal. Anyways, I’m sure we can find a way to work it off.”

Alexander almost drops the cupcake.

“Not if you fall asleep,” Nate grumbles.

“Give me a reason to stay awake and I won’t,” Cale quips in reply.

Alexander isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore.

“I will,” Nate says, voice dropping. “I’ll give you a few.”

“Good. Then, I’ll see you in a couple hours?”

“Yeah.”

“Bye Nate.”

“Bye.”

The door opens and shuts, and Alexander breathes.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

He races back to the auditorium, cupcake held out in front of him like an offering to the gods. They need to finish setting things up, so he has time to tell the boys. No one is going to believe him.

\----

_May_

When Nate and Cale walk outside with a bowl of watermelon and a pack of beer, Tyson decides he has had enough. He knows Gabe thinks they should wait another week to confront them, let the stress of the school year fall away before springing this on them, but he can’t wait anymore. He can’t.

“Ah,” he says, rising from his deck chair, “the couple has finally arrived. Did you guys get distracted making out and lose track of time?”

The silence that follows is almost instantaneous and near perfect, the light sizzle of burgers on the grill the only noise. Gabe gives Tyson a disappointed look so devastating he ducks his head.

“There was an accident,” Nate says, brow furrowed. “The highway was backed up for like five miles.”

Whatever Tyson expected, that was not it. “You’re not even going to deny it?” he asks, stunned.

The furrows in Nate’s brow deepen. “Should we?”

What the fuck is he even supposed to do with that? “What the fuck?” he says, emphatic. “Are you serious? That’s it?”

“Was there supposed to be more?” Cale asks, clutching uncertainly at the watermelon bowl.

Tyson reels back. In all the scenarios he’s run through of how this would go down, never did he expect flat-out admittance and almost dismissal of the topic. Flustered and floundering, he turns to Gabe with pleading eyes.

“So it’s true then?” Gabe asks, taking pity on him. “You’re dating?”

Nate shrugs. “Yeah.”

Tyson thinks a few of the guys shout in surprise or shock or protest, but he can’t hear over the rushing in his ears.

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Gabe asks.

“Eventually,” Nate says and doesn’t offer anything more.

Cale elbows him gently and gives him an unimpressed look when he turns, features the picture of innocence. “We didn’t want to tell anyone in the beginning,” Cale says, “because we were still figuring things out and wanted some space to do that.”

“And then?”

Nate adjusts his grip on the beer, and the bottles clink delicately. “And then you guys were being nosy fucks, and we thought it would be funny to see how long it took you to realize we were dating and stop whatever weird matchmaking you were trying to do.”

“So you lied to us?” Tyson asks, finally finding his voice.

“I mean, we never said we weren’t dating.”

Tyson scoffs. “A lie of omission is still a lie, Nate.”

Nate shrugs, seemingly unbothered by this egregious sin.

“I get you thinking it’s funny,” Gabe says, steering the conversation away from a quibble over semantics. “We probably deserve some shit for all the times we tried to be supportive bros even though we had no idea what we were doing.” Gabe lifts a hand in remembrance of The Gay Bar Debacle That Shall Not Be Named, and Tyson mirrors the gesture. “But Cale,” Gabe continues, turning sad eyes on him. “Dear, sweet Cale, you went along with that? You thought it was okay to lie to your new coworkers?”

Cale bites his lip, fingers tapping on the bowl. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, plaintive. “By the time we decided we were ready to tell you, you had already gotten it in your heads that you wanted to set us up, and you were all so invested in it that we didn’t want to spoil that.”

“But you getting together was the goal,” Tyson says, frowning. “How would telling us spoil that?”

Cale shrugs. “You seemed to enjoy coming up with ways to throw us together—like during that Teacherlympics thing or at the Winter Formal—and I mean, it’s not like we mind working together, so there didn’t really seem like a reason to stop you.”

Tyson opens his mouth, but EJ cuts in. “Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “Wait just a minute. Hold on.” Resting his hands on his hips, he fixes Nate and Cale with a probing look. “When exactly did you two start dating?”

Nate clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “October,” he says, looking at the ground.

“Third,” Cale adds.

All hell breaks loose.

There are shouts of disbelief and surprise, cries of outrage and betrayal. Sammy’s shriek is so loud Tyson thinks he hears the windows rattle; the roommates (“Not roommates anymore!”) take turns cursing Nate and Cale and everything under the sun; and EJ hollers, loudly and emphatically, that he ‘fucking knew it’ and his theory was right all along, so ‘Suck it, Gabriel!’ Tyson feels like someone has stuck him with his favorite chef’s knife and left him to bleed out on his kitchen floor.

October? Fucking October?

“Lies!” he seethes. “Lies! There’s no way it’s been that long. That’s months. That’s…” he counts on his fingers, “seven months! There’s no way you’ve been together that long. Bullshit!”

Nate looks betrayed by Tyson’s doubt—ha! He deserves it for seven months of lies—and Cale looks bewildered. “Why would we lie about that?” he asks. “It’s our anniversary.”

Tyson lets out a squawk some might consider undignified, but he thinks it’s allowed when Cale’s here throwing around serious, coupley words like anniversary. Seriously, what the fuck?

“Guys, guys,” Z calls over the chaos, “is true. They’re not lie. I’m know it.”

Everyone, Nate and Cale included, turns to stare at him.

“What?” Ryan asks. “You knew?” He seems as offended as Tyson; fair since he and Cale are supposed to be homies.

“I’m know since January,” Z says with a shrug.

A frown mars Ryan’s beautiful face.

“What?” Nate demands. “How the—January? You’ve known since January?”

Z crunches on one of his chips, clearly delighted by the entire situation. “I’m see you together at Avalanche game. Was just a couple rows back with Sasha.”

The way Cale turns a vivid red and Nate sputters makes Tyson think Z is telling the truth. Which means Nate and Cale are probably telling the truth, too. Well shit.

“And you didn’t tell us?” EJ asks. “Come on, man. That’s not something you keep to yourself.”

Z shrugs. “I see them together, I think maybe is first date. But then they very comfortable with each other, touching and everything—” someone releases a dismayed noise, but Tyson can’t be sure if it was Cale or Nate; they both look equally horrified at the thought of Z seeing them together “—and I realize is not first date. They’re definitely together, very together. So I’m start think, and I realize maybe they not want to tell everyone yet. Maybe they worried how guys would react, how school would react if they find out. So I decide I’m not say something until Nate or Cale say something. They never say something, so I’m not say something.”

“Thank you,” Cale says, though he still looks terribly embarrassed to have been caught at the game with Nate. Tyson is kind of curious to know why he would be embarrassed. There’s only so much you can get up to at a professional hockey game before security kicks you out. Not that he would know.

“Of course,” Z says with a wave and picks up his burger to take an enormous bite.

As ketchup oozes between his fingers and splashes onto the plate, Tyson decides there’s probably a metaphor there, something about betrayal and pain or secrets coming to light when the proper force is applied, but he’s too tired to flesh it out right now. And anyways, there are much more important things to focus on. Namely, Nate and Cale and whatever they did at a hockey game in January that has Cale still blushing and Nate shifting nervously four months later. Burger metaphors can wait; chirping is priority.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, I'd love to know through kudos, comments, or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/crooked-silence).


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